A/N: Here's Chapter 2! I expected to get this out sooner, but my darn brother hogged the computer all week! He got some new game that he's been obsessed with, and it's been quite annoying for those of us who'd like to use the computer eventually. I stole the computer with the excuse of 'doing homework', which I really should be doing. Entire essay due tomorrow, yuck! Anyway, enough of my complaining. I don't like this chapter too much, but filler chapters always seem to find their way into stories eventually. Sorry! I hope you guys still review!
A special thanks to: Mrs. Rose Malfoy, Treacherous Darkness, dizzydazzle, and AnimalLover247 for reviewing! Also, thanks to those of you who added this story to your updates and favorites! It means a lot!
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't own it.
Chapter 2: Fixing the Mistakes
"Will you take a walk around the garden with me, Draco?" Narcissa requested as the house elves hurriedly took away their plates and bustled their way back to the kitchens. Draco pushed his chair back and stood, nodded his head, and followed his mother out the door.
Narcissa Malfoy's garden had once been the talk of all the towns around the Manor. A rainbow of colors had once showered an entire (rather large) side of the house. Vines had grown up the wall and beautiful mixtures of every color possible had covered it. It had been a truly beautiful sight, once. The house elves had made sure it was, using magic to make it the most wonderful garden in the world, because, of course, only the best was acceptable for the Malfoys.
But once Voldemort had started to edge towards victory, and the Dementors had had such an increase in population that there was a permanent fog, the garden had died. The house elves had attempted to revive it, but the conditions were no longer suitable for such a garden, even one made by magic. And now, every day, Narcissa would take a walk around the house and stare at what was once beautiful. Draco figured she thought it was a sort of symbol of their life; once beautiful, now dreary and dead, and that she thought that the day there was a sprout in her garden would be the day hope would return.
They finally arrived at the edge of the house and Draco surveyed the dead garden. It was black and looked as if the entire side of the house had been charred. The soil looked lifeless and empty. It was hideous. Not a speck of green. Not a hint of life.
Draco turned to his mother, whose eyes were looking straight at the garden, somewhat forlornly. "I'm going to Azkaban, Mother. Good day." She didn't respond, but kept her blues eyes fixed on her dead garden.
:::
Draco returned to Azkaban with a new purpose. He felt rejuvenated, like a new man, ready to spring into action. He was going to do something right this time. He was going to fix every mistake he had ever made.
Prisoners were supposed to be fed only once a day, but this simply would not do for Hermione. He was going to start by making her a bit healthier; to try and give her skin the old color it used to have. So, with his pockets filled with biscuits, he trudged to Hermione's cell, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Due either to sheer luck or the earliness of the morning, he met no one along the way, and he opened the door labeled '1634' and quietly slipped inside.
Hermione was tucked away into the corner, apparently sleeping. He smiled slightly. She looked almost like her old self as she slept. So…carefree of her own troubles. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and her face looked calmer, with her mouth slightly open. Without thinking, Draco reached down and brushed a few stray curls out of her face. The moment he realized what he was doing, he jerked upwards and shook his head firmly. No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't get attached; not when she could easily die tomorrow. Draco placed down the biscuits in the center of the floor, and soundlessly exited.
As he did on a normal day, Draco nicked a Daily Prophet from the table in the meeting room. Only a few Death Eaters were in there, so he picked a seat against the wall, away from the long wooden table in the center of the room, and relaxed into it. Voldemort was hardly ever at Azkaban; most of the time he was gone either trying to get to Potter or doing some secret mission or killing people who were making foolish attempts to stop him from gaining power. Draco was glad he was hardly there, because then it was easier to block his thoughts from the other Death Eaters. The task of blocking his mind from Voldemort was near impossible, but Snape and Bellatrix had taught him well, and he was sure the Dark Lord knew nothing of his fleeting hopes for him to lose the War. If he did know this, Draco would be dead.
The former Slytherin flipped the Prophet over and almost gasped aloud, for Hermione's name was in giant, bold letters over the top of the page and a giant picture of her grinning, the real her, filled most of the front page.
The Search For Hermione Granger Continues, But Leads to Nothing
A few months ago, Hermione Granger, 19 year old Muggle-born and friend of Harry Potter, was reported missing. Aurors and many volunteers have been tirelessly searching for any sign of her whereabouts, but have turned up nothing. She is suspected to be held in a prison, possibly Azkaban, being questioned for the whereabouts of Harry Potter. However, Azkaban has proved impossible to breach, and the Ministry is no longer taking chances at losing some of its best Aurors.
"We're doing the best we can," An Auror by the name of Dawlish said as he hurriedly tried to leave the Ministry, "for the sake of Hermione and her friends, but we're turning up nothing. The Ministry's been hectic and morale is low. We have our best Aurors on the job, and we just really hope she's alright."
Harry Potter was unavailable for questioning on how he's taking the sudden blow at losing his best friend. Sources say, however, that the Boy-Who-Lived has fallen into a sudden depression as of late. But why should he not? His best friends are now targets. His life is spiraling out of his control, and everyone is looking to him for guidance, but he is doing nothing as innocent people are captured and killed each day…
Draco put down the paper in disgust, refusing to read on. Breaches on Azkaban? They hadn't had an attack in months, long before Hermione had supposedly been captured. He suspected the Ministry was trying to sound like they were doing their best, for the sake of the public and for Potter.
"Hear about this, Draco?" Marler, a Snatcher about the age of Draco, asked as he propped the Prophet up on the table. "Breaches on Azkaban? Ha, breaches my ass. They must be trying to keep Potter happy."
Draco grunted a response, pretending to rifle through the rest of the Prophet. Normally, he got on well with Marler, but right now he felt a bit sick. "What do you know of Granger's capture, Marler?" Marler, an eager mousy haired boy, had a way of linking his way to the other Death Eaters to get gossip. He was often a vital source for Draco when he wasn't told what the other Death Eaters knew, due to their dislike of him.
"Hmm, a lot of stuff. For one, she was captured in her Muggle parents' homes, and they were murdered before she was caught. Two, she was offered up as bait for Potter; they get the Mudblood back and we get Potter. Apparently, the Ministry kept a close eye on Potter after that, 'cause he was all eager to turn himself in for her, but they refused to let him do it. So then the Dark Lord started torturing her for information, stuff like that. But I hear she's a bit too far off and hardly remembers anything. Now, I hear from a reliable source the Dark Lord is gonna fake her death so that Potter loses a bit more morale, but keep her alive and keep trying to get information from her. He's got some Death Eaters trying to get a good batch of Veritaserum right now. No one can cook it up, you know, since Snape's gone and all."
It was as much as Draco had expected. He had been a little caught off guard that her parents had been murdered, but got over it quickly. After all, they didn't concern him. He had never known them. And besides, they were just Muggles. Stopping for a moment, Draco had to remind himself Hermione was Muggle-born. A long time ago he had stopped caring about foolish prejudices, however. Muggles and wizards all bled the same way. They all screamed the same way. They all died the same way.
"Thanks, Marler," Draco muttered, throwing the Prophet on the table and rising. He walked the long trek to Hermione's cell, lost in thought, and opened it gently, slipping in. The sight of her was enthralling him. Something that had existed in his Hogwarts days was simply too good to be true. It filled him with a sense of false hope; it made him feel like such things that had existed during the days when normalcy was real could only mean that things could return to normal. Draco wanted to catch Hermione before she woke up, so he could see her looking as peaceful as she had when he had seen her earlier. However, his spirits fell when he saw that she was no longer asleep. Granger was in the middle of her room, stuffing the biscuits one by one into her mouth as if she hadn't eaten in years. Her eyes were ravenously transfixed to the food, and at first she didn't acknowledge him. But when the door slammed shut, her large eyes shot up, and instantly she let out a shocked scream and shrank against the far wall.
"You don't have to be scared." Draco muttered, shuffling forward awkwardly and seating himself a bit disgustedly on the slimy ground. "Here." He grabbed one of the remaining biscuits and held it out to her. She did not move. Her eyes travelled from the biscuit, up to his face, and back to the biscuit. She seemed to decide the risk wasn't worth it, because she only began to crawl farther backwards away from him, her mouth closing and opening in silent screams.
"Fine," Draco muttered, placing the biscuit back on the ground, but closer to her. "Listen, I want to help. You may not remember, but you know me from school. I'm Draco Malfoy. We met first year, and I hated you, remember? And you were a bit of a know-it-all, and at first, I don't think you had too many friends. But then, for some strange reason, you decided to become best friends with Potter and Weasley…"
It took Draco a full thirty minutes to describe their first year in detail. He added much of the experiences he had had in first year, and even described Hogwarts in an intense amount of detail, and every single teacher that she had once so devotedly worshipped. She never acted as if she registered anything he was saying, much to his increasing annoyance. She only sat in the corner, her side facing him, her head pressed against the wall, trembling as if he was going to strike out at her. He ignored her, and kept going on with his tale. He was just pondering whether or not he should progress to their second year, when the door swung open.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Amycus Carrow, his frame taking up most of the door, stood glowering at him. Draco suddenly realized how horrible it must look; he sitting in the middle of the floor with a pile of biscuits facing Hermione Granger, who was cowering in the corner. The moment Carrow had entered the room, she had let out a horrible scream of terror, one that sent much more tingles down Draco's spine than the scream she had uttered when he had entered.
Draco quickly swept the biscuits up into his pockets, praying that he had not seen them them. "Nothing," he muttered, and before he could receive further questioning, squeezed by Carrow and hurried down the hallway, trying to get away from Hermione's screams as fast as possible. He checked his watch to occupy himself; it was only 10.
A normal day for Draco was actually not that eventful. Every now and then, he was asked to do a task that would normally be set for an actual Death Eater, and there was the occasional battle or attack, but on ordinary days he simply walked around Azkaban and did the favors for someone. His father sometimes took him on Muggle killing expeditions, but lately he felt that his father had sensed his disgust at it. It actually kind of frightened him. He wasn't sure if his father would turn him into Voldemort or not. Sons should be able to trust their fathers, but Draco wasn't entirely sure if he could.
"Draco!" Draco turned at the sound of his name, and his stomach did a sort of backflip as Bellatrix began walking towards him from a room. This never boded well. "A meeting is about to begin. Come on."
After years of practice, Draco was able to tame his face not to show his fear. Meetings either meant he was about to be dragged to a fun game of 'Let's Kill the Muggles', or to a battle. He gave a simple nod, and followed Bellatrix to the meeting room he had read the Prophet in. The Death Eaters were all gathered at the table, and Bellatrix purposefully strut to the head of the table. Draco took his seat next to his father after giving a respectful bow to the other Death Eaters present, his mind completely blank.
After a few moments of tense silence, Bellatrix pulled out her wand and twirled it in her hand, then began to speak. "The Dark Lord has entrusted me to pass on a message to you." Bellatrix began, pausing as if to let them all drink in the fact that she had been trusted with such an important task. "I have recently been given information that some of you have been having your personal fun with some of the female prisoners in the night." Mind blank, blank mind, Draco. Don't betray your disgust. "I'm afraid that, even though I'm sure it's quite fun and games, some of it must stop. It would be nice if our prisoners that have valuable information would remember their information. If any of you catch one doing this, report to me immediately, and that person will be dealt with." Bellatrix turned, her black eyes staring straight into Draco's, and she gave a delighted cackle as if the prospect of causing someone pain was simply too wonderful to bare.